


When You Go Through the Storm, They Will Know Who You Are

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: There's a type of reassurance in this. A type of indulgence.





	When You Go Through the Storm, They Will Know Who You Are

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 fic, from the 2014 round of suholiday

Jongdae cheers like the others when he hears the news. Obnoxiously loud, so he can hear over the rush of blood in his ears. He raises his hands in the air, kicks his socked feet. And then he promptly collapses, pressing his nose into his denimed jeans and pinching his thighs, overwhelmed and overjoyed. At his side, Baekhyun lets out this little high-pitched laugh and leans against Jongdae, shoving him down into the carpet as if to anchor it in the physical, prove to himself that it's real. Kyungsoo squeezes his hand extra hard, and Jongin blinks before bursting into tears. And Jongdae is caught in between wanting to cry, too—so fucking hard—and wanting to press his face tight to the carpet to muffle his screams.

It's been a brief taste for him—the briefest. Of the hard times. Of the hunger. Of the need. But debut's still a promised land for him, too. Just beyond the horizon. Just an unattainable.

Only there are concretes now. Photoshoots. Talks of a showcase. And a name, a name, a name.

And Jongdae trembles as he feels a warm hand—Chanyeol's or Kris', based on size—rub over the swell of his curved back. He arches towards it with a shaky exhale of breath.

There's something like intoxication in it—the news, the hope— and then actual intoxication in their celebration later that night. After the managers leave with knowing smiles. After Minseok and Lu Han sneak out only to return with heavy clinking bags. They lean over confidentially to proffer little paper cups, swearing them to secrecy as they pass green bottles around. Sehun accepts eagerly, and Minseok seems to contemplate snatching it back before changing his mind and indulging Sehun with a large smile and an affectionate pat to the head. Beside him, Lu Han raises a striped arm, toasts to their future, in both Chinese and Korean, his voice thick with emotion.

And Jongdae scans the room as he throws his head back, leaning heavily on Chanyeol, laughing, skin suddenly too tight, everything suddenly too bright and perfect. Jongdae is flush with excitement, with soju, with something like vindication and validation, as he locks eyes with Joonmyun, who's sitting across from him, cross-legged, small fingers teasing over the lip of his tiny cup.

Their comically tiny leader. Popular and handsome and kind, he's been here so, so, so long, and Jongdae grins at him, raising his cup as he screams about how they're finally joining the ranks, hyung. Finally after all this time.

Jongdae doesn't quite recognize the expression in Joonmyun's eyes, and his grin falters just slightly. But then Chanyeol whoops about needing to order pizza—lots and lots because we're fucking idols, fucking idols, you guys— and Joonmyun seems to recover, nodding vigorously as he hands over his credit card.

 

And Jongdae isn't sure if it's always been there, and he's been too distracted to notice, too blinded by Joonmyun's calm, confident, leader aura.

But that expression—almost maybe something soft and tender and vulnerable—continues to bleed into Joonmyun's features. More and more pronounced, as the haze of we're going to fucking debut fades to make way for stress, for insecurity, for need. And Joonmyun starts to look after and comfort, as he is wont to do. Taking on the other's burdens. Running soothing fingers over Sehun's scalp as the younger clings tight, clings needy. Distracting and reassuring a soft-voiced, weepy Zitao with late night Chinese-language films. Whispering soft and gentle to a surprising silent, contemplative Chanyeol. Curling small discreet fingers around a jittery Jongin's wrist.

Joonmyun mandates increasingly frequent family meetings. And they're allowed to order whatever they want, allowed to say however they feel. He smiles softly, nods solemnly at their confessions. Because with Joonmyun there's no judgement. There's no ulterior motive. He just wants to help. He just wants to make it better. It's okay.

But Joonmyun isn't, not really, and Jongdae starts to takes note. Of the faint bruises under Joonmyun's eyes. Of the tired lines around his mouth. Of the pristine sheets of his unslept-in bed. And Jongdae feels like he's starting to see the cracks beneath the surface as he peeks in on Joonmyun quivering, the faint glow of the dorm television blue and dreamy across his face as he watches music show recordings over and over again. He mimes the movements, eyes wavery but unblinking.

Cheek pressed against the door jamb, Jongdae hesitates, biting back the question, the itch to make it better, as he shuffles soundlessly back into his room. But he asks with his eyes at least, over breakfast, if he's okay.

And sometimes, increasingly, Joonmyun tugs a hoody on over his pajamas, shoves his unsocked feet into an old pair of sneakers, and wanders out. Leaves for hours, coming back only when dawn is licking over the horizon.

 

The sixth time, a Wednesday, Jongdae follows.

Weaving stealthily along the empty streets, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes trained on his leader, he follows a good 15 steps behind. He loses him as the elder wanders into the familiar studio. And when Jongdae finds him, wanders into the dance practice room, Joonmyun's hunched over one of the mirrors, hands clasped in a little rainbow above his head, staring heavily at his reflection, breathing slow and loud.

All the lights are on, fluroscent and much too bright, playing harsh across Joonmyun's rumpled hair, his old hoody, his bent body, as Joonmyun continues to press himself to the glass.

"Hyung?" he tries, voice soft. He's tentative to break the silence.

Joonmyun startles. He turns quickly to face him, and Jongdae tugs self consciously at his hoody as Joonmyun rises stiffly. "Jongdae?"

"What are you—?"

Joonmyun shakes his head absently. "It's just something—sometimes I need to remember—center myself. This time— you know, this time is just mine." He quirks his mouth at the end, realizing the potential affront, but not apologizing for it.

"Are you—because our debut?"

Joonmyun blinks, tugs at his own sweatshirt, and Jongdae furrows his eyebrows, stepping forward cautiously at the uncharacteristic display of nerves.

"Hyung?"

"I just—" He tugs harder at his hoody, righting his sleeve, then shoving his hands into his pockets. His thumbs peek out, rubbing over the material.

"Hyung…"

And Joonmyun's always seemed so strong, so unyielding and stable. A rock, an oak, an anchor. A leader, a leader, a leader. But he swallows slow and thick and that look is back in his eyes, even stronger now and his voice sounds strange—soft, hesitant—and his eyes are wide, underlined with dark circles. Soft but also almost vulnerable. Jongdae bites on his lips as he catches them in his own.

"Sometimes it gets too—And I need, I need—" He huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. "But it's not—you wouldn't understand. It's fine."

Jongdae doesn't repeat the question, but waits for him to continue. Joonmyun sighs, running a hand through his hair. It musses it up, makes dark bangs hang in his eyes.

"This is home for me, Jongdae," he starts, soft, slow, hesitant. "My home for the past 6 years—what kind of fucked up—" His voice trails off.

Jongdae takes one step closer. Joonmyun watches him, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He hesitates, seems to collect his thoughts, before continuing. "What if this is my home for the rest of my life? What if this is it for me—my future—all I'm good for? Training, comforting the real idols."

"Hyung?"

"What if I'm just potential? What if I'm just supposed to be on the cusp of?"

"Hyung—"

"I'm on pause here, Jongdae...And I've seen so many people. So many people." The famous rolodex, the phone contact list to envy, all the idols that he's always joked have left him behind. "I'm on pause, and I've been here so long, Jondae. I'm just…space, a fixture. I"m a fucking couch. I'm not an idol."

Jongdae reaches out then, palms up. "I think we should…we should…" He motions towards the door. Somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere less bleak.

But Joonmyun flinches from his touch, and Jongdae jerks back.

"I'm not—I don't want to. This is mine, Jongdae. This is where I belong."

"But hyung..."

"Jongdae, just...go. I'm fine."

And Joonmyun is strong, so strong, but he's trembling and his voice sounds so small, so thick and vulnerable and wrong. And Jongdae knows that he's not fine. That there's too much pressure, and Joonmyun is about to overflow. Drown in it. And Jongdae doesn't know how to make this better. Doesn't know how to act when his hero is on the verge of breaking, bleeding.

Because there's always been something like affection there, like gratitude, but like infatuation, too. Like wide-eyed admiration. And Joonmyun's been there for him. For everybody. Kind and welcoming and accommodating and steady and strong, always so so strong. He's held him in the moments of vulnerability and doubt and insecurity. He's reassured. All the weight on his shoulders. But there's never been something like mutual dependence, like give and take. Like Joonmyun needing like this.

Joonmyun sighs heavily, wariness bleeding into his posture. He tries to be strong again. "It's fine, Jongdae. I didn't—I don't&dmash"

"But we're so close, hyung. And you—you're so" everything "you're so— you do—you do—you can"

"That makes it worse," he snaps suddenly. "I've—I've seen so many people like this—like you and me, people who wanted it more, deserved it more—and they still, they still—I can't take the disappointment anymore, it'll—I'll—"

"It's yours, hyung, I promise. It's real, I promise."

"I know it's fucking real, Jongdae," he bites back. "But what if, what if…"

"Hyung"

"You don't—you don't understand—you're just—you can't—"

"Hyung"

"No, it's fine. Just go to your room. It's fine. I'm fine"

"Hyung, it's just—it's been leading up to this—leading us, being there for us, being this. It's not—okay? You do—I promise—"

"Jongdae—"

And his voice breaks, and Jongdae realizes that somewhere along the way he's started crying. How many nights. How many nights. "Jongdae," he continues, voice thick with it. "I just don't want—not right now, okay? Tomorrow. Tomorrow"

And he puts on a smile. Class President. Camp Counselor. Team Captain. Leader. Leader. Leader. But it's cracked, frayed around the edges. It doesn't touch his teary eyes.

"Hyung."

"I don't—I don't want to be a hyung right now, Jongdae. Okay? Just go back. I'll meet you later."

"Hyung," he insists, begs. "You can't just sit here, hating yourself. You can't—You shouldn't—You—you deserve—And you can—I know you can. You're so strong. You're so ready for this, I know—"

"Not right now, Jongdae. You don't understand."

"Hyung." Jongdae steps closer, so he's right in front of him. Joonmyun drops his gaze.

So Jongdae leans forward to wipe his tears away, and Joonmyun's hands—his fingers—look so small as they wrap around his wrists.

"Let me just—Just don't—I can, hyung. I can—"

Joonmyun looks up at him then.

And he's been so good at taking care of everybody else, but he's been here. He's been hurting. And something churns deep in Jongdae's gut as he meets red, raw eyes, wraps loose and hesitant arms around Joonmyun's shoulders. He presses his forehead against his, and waits waits waits. Until Joonmyun fucking melts. Jongdae pulls back just slightly, and Joonmyun makes this small noise as he nuzzles closer. Jongdae's gaze flickers to his mouth then back to his eyes, gauging, deliberating. And Joonmyun's always taken such great care of everybody and maybe he should, he wants to. He hesitates.

But Joonmyun makes the choice for him, then.

Murmuring something soft, he tugs Jongdae forward abruptly, by the back of his neck. And it's more a soft brushing of lips than anything else, so so so chaste but lingering. A very first kiss. A very first taste. Jongdae grazes his fingers along Joonmyun's jaw, thumbs over his cheekbones, cradles as Joonmyun gasps softly into his mouth, parting just slightly into something warm and lazy and slow. A slow, heady burn.

Jongdae groans, sliding his lips more wetly, shivering as Joonmyun follows suit.

And there's a type of reassurance in this. A type of indulgence. For Joonmyun. For Jongdae.

And Jongdae's always thought that Joonmyun is ridiculously handsome. But it's even better up close. Like this. With his eyelashes fluttering against Jongdae's cheekbones and his dark eyebrows joining and the shadows dancing across the sharp cut of his cheekbones. He's fucking beautiful as he chases after Jongdae's mouth, skimming his small, pink, increasingly puffy lips against his in soft, soft presses.

Jongdae never wants it to end. Never wants to speed up. Or slow down. Just wants to stay like this. Just on the cusp of something hot and forbidden with Joonmyun's lips caressing his. He wants to die like this.

And then Joonmyun pulls away, opens his eyes, and Jongdae breath catches in his throat, a pulse of heat sent skittering downward at the naked passion blooming in Joonmyun's dark, dark eyes. Jongdae feels a sudden heady pulse of arousal.

"Oh fuck," he groans reverently, and Joonmyun intercepts his heavy gaze, liquid fire swirling in his irises as he leans down to mouth over his jawline.

Jongdae's head lolls back of its volition as Joonmyun's fingers whisper over his hoody zipper, tease over the waistband of his sweats.

"Hyung," he whines, and Joonmyun smiles against his throat.

"Down," he urges. "On the floor."

And it gets mixed up and desperate and hot hot hot faster than he can really keep up with. And he isn't sure how soothing fingers have translated into sudden yanks of fabric. Why the draft from the air conditioner is tingling over his overheated skin, provoking goosebumps, urging him to pull Joonmyun even closer, even tighter.

But he can't be bothered to try to piece it together. Not when Joonmyun is swirling his tongue into his mouth, painting along his teeth, over the roof of his mouth, with heavy aching brushes, as he holds him down with his urgent fingers. Not when one hand is reaching down to cup him, fingers fluttering over his rapidly hardening cock.

"Jongdae," Joonmyun hums, and Jongdae arches even more sharply.

"Hyung," he breathes, tugging on his hair. "So amazing. Want to—want to—"

But the words get lodged somewhere in his throat, break off into a wet moan as Joonmyun sucks on his throat, licking along his Adam's apple and murmuring against his skin.

Joonmyun shifts to straddle him, sit heavily on his thighs, and Jongdae's eyes flicker to the white clouds swimming in his vision, moving in disconcerting swirls above his head. Joonmyun grinds down suddenly, and Jongdae rolls his head back, startled as he catches their reflection in the floor length mirror. Joonmyun is draped over his body, tugging at the hemline of his shirt. And Jongdae is curling toward it, baring his neck, in desperation and submission and arousal. He whimpers.

"Hyung," he pants out, twisting his fingers into Joonmyun's hair, cupping his cheek. "Want to take care of you. Want to make you feel good. Let me. Let me. Let me."

Joonmyun's eyelids become even heavier at that, and his lips even redder, even slicker as he licks them, moans.

"I don't want you to—I want to be the one when you can't—Just tell me, please."

Joonmyun groans, tugging him forward by the back of the neck, to kiss him hard. "Want you," he rasps against Jongdae's lips. "Don't want to think about—"

"You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it," he rambles hotly against the corner of Joonmyun's lips, emboldened as he slides his fingers down, finds Joonmyun just as hard as him.

"I'm just—just—I'm not…"

And Jongdae takes the initiative easily. Stripping their bottoms off, he licks his palm.

Jongdae's only done this once before, with his best friend second year of high school. It hadn't counted, he had said, immediately afterwards, pulling at his pants, refusing to meet his eyes. It hadn't meant anything. It would never mean anything. But Jongdae wants this to. Wants it so fucking badly.

The cold air is like frozen coils twisting tight around his sensitive length, but then he's gripping himself, reaching out to hold Joonmyun, too. And everything is suddenly scorching. It's burning him alive.

Jongdae flicks his wrist in a caress, grinding forward. Joonmyun is hot and slick in his hold, fucking throbbing. Joonmyun moans into his mouth, desperate and breathy, muscles taut, and Jongdae trembles, fucking forward harder, collecting every delicious broken sound of encouragement.

He circles the crown, thumb teasing along the underside, tapping over the pearling tip. Joonmyun's thighs quiver, bloom with sweat, and he pants Jongdae's name.

And Jongdae's so hard, oh fuck. Wants it so fucking badly. "Hyung," he rasps. Lolling forward, he watches the insistent meeting of flushed, desperate flesh, fucking aching for it. His pace becomes increasingly frantic, strokes faster, sloppier, harder. He twists sharply as he writhes forward, harder and harder and harder against Joonmyun.

"You've always—you've always been my favorite, Jongdae," Joonmyun groans suddenly. Nosing, urging until Jongdae is meeting his eyes. Heavy-lidded and glazed and so hot. His eyebrows crease as Jongdae squeezes tighter in response, skitters briefly along the base. Joonmyun's finger tighten at Jongdae's side, a sort of anchor as he molds bruises into Jongdae's skin, and the vein in his neck becomes even more pronounced as he moans louder and louder and louder, tensing through the pleasure.

"Hyung," he whimpers, reckless, breathless. He's a mess of desire, needy moans, and God Joonmyun. "Hyung, sometimes—sometimes I think of you when I touch myself—I think—I think about you fucking me—And you're so so amazing, hyung. I-I come so fucking hard just thinking about it."

Joonmyun's breath hitches. He bites down on Jongdae's neck, and Jongdae tangles one hand in his hair, to hold him there, urge him harder, as he thrusts into the ring of his fingers, against Joonmyun's hot, pulsing cock.

Joonmyun fucking whimpers. Small and needy and desperate and fuck fuck fuck. Jongdae ruts forward even more desperately.

"Gonna come," Joonmyun groans. "Gonna come, Jongdae."

And Jongdae focuses more fully on him. He rubs the head of his cock against Joonmyun's, feels it twitch in his hold as he skims along the sensitive flesh, shifts to tease over his balls, mouthing at his jawline and murmuring about how much he wants it.

Joonmyun is suddenly pliant and panting and perfect, spasming through orgasm. He comes messy and fast and loud into Jongdae's fist, along his own chest, crying out Jongdae's name.

And fuck Jongdae definitely wants more of that. Wants it to count so he can have it all the fucking time.

Joonmyun sucks on Jongdae's bottom lip as he extricates his fingers from Jongdae's overheated skin, sliding them down to grip Jongdae. Tight and quick, he jerks him off. Jongdae comes embarrassingly fast, two strokes in, he undulates through it, moan breaking off in a breathless, desperate "hyung."

And Joonmyun kisses him again. Over and over and over again. Lazy drags of his tongue, lazier drags of his fingers, murmuring his name in between brushes of his lips.

"Thank you thank you thank you."

Jongdae flushes at the attention, almost thinks about brushing it all off with a rushed "I just got you off, hyung, no big deal," but he catches Joonmyun's eyes and they're so so soft, so affectionate and honest and raw that the words get caught in his throat and he drops his gaze. He picks idly at at loose thread in his sweat pants, as Joonmyun threads his fingers through his hair, rubs slowly along his temples. He radiates warmth, gratitude.

"You're welcome, hyung," he murmurs, and Joonmyun shifts to cup his cheek, meet his eyes again.

"Really, Jongdae."

He nods shyly, and Joonmyun kisses him again. So, so, so gentle, he can barely feel it. Oh God.

"Really."


End file.
